All language subtitles for Dr Quinn S05E21

The telegram, where is it?

I know it's here.

Somewhere.

How long's it been here?

This arrived two days ago. Why didn't
you tell me? I've been busy.

He's coming today.

Dorothy, I need you to, uh... Brian!

Where's Dorothy?

In Chicago.

At that meeting of the Western
publishers.

What's she doing there?

You told her to go.

Find out how to expand the Gazette.

I need a notice printed right away.

The public invitation to a poetry
reading.

Poetry reading?

America's most famous poet, Mr. Walt
Whitman, is coming to stay at my hotel.

Walt Whitman's coming here?

Yes, he's recovering from a stroke, and
he's chosen my resort to restore him to

health.

Stroke? Is he paralyzed?

I don't know.

Preston offered him a rest cure in
exchange for doing a poetry reading.

Oh, I wish he hadn't done that.

What is that?

I heard that he advocates free love.

That's a load of rubbish.

Do you read his poetry, Lord?

I suppose a man's free to write what he
wants, but why does he have to go

reading it in public?

Public reading?

Well, that's wonderful, Brian.

The whole town will get to hear him
speak at all right.

Mr. Whitman is Sly's favorite writer.
Oh, he's more than a writer, Brian. He's

famous poet.

And he started off working for a
newspaper when he was about your age.

Really? Well, maybe he can give you some
pointers.

You think so?

A famous man like him?

Sure he's famous.

With all those racy poems he wrote.
Racy?

That's just another word for artistic,
Jake. A true genius.

He's staying in your hotel.

Which reminds me, can you hurry it
along?

He's arriving on the four o 'clock
train.

I must talk to you. Not now, Andrew.

Howdy.

Hi.

Preston A. Lodge III at your service.

Allow me to assist you. Why, thank you.

Preston A. Lodge III, my gracious
patron.

Ah, the fragrance of wilderness.

Allow me to introduce you to the Harvard
-educated physician who will supervise

your treatment, Dr.

Andrew Cook.

Pleased to meet you.

Actually, Dr.

Quinn here is far more experienced than
I to see to your care.

Sir.

Well, I'm honored to meet you, Mr.
Whitman.

A small misunderstanding, sir. I can
straighten it out in no time. There's

nothing to straighten out. I'm perfectly
delighted with the arrangements.

Must be tired after your trip.

Yes, yes, of course. The carriage is
right here.

I'll get your bags.

Oh, thank you.

My name's Byron Sully.

Have you lost your mind?

I'm sorry, I cannot treat this man.

Well, because it's poetry.

Please don't ask me to explain.

As physicians, we have a duty to put
aside personal feelings.

I beg you, Michaela, trust me.

do you work for her or do you work for
me you will thank me for this

Doctors, I love them.

And I hate their medicine.

I was a volunteer nurse myself in the
war. Oh, I see.

You don't feel this?

Nothing? How long has it been this way?

Long enough to know it isn't going to
get better.

Well, perhaps it's only temporary.

I have seen cases of delayed recovery.

Like you, doctor. I've looked death in
the face.

So many young men.

So much waste.

We're old friends, Beth and I.

Friends?

As a doctor, I've always viewed death as
the enemy.

Oh, well, I guess there's no point in
dying now with a whole week of free room

and board.

I've been reading about experimental
treatments for damaged nerves using

electrical current.

Tried that. Tried it all.

Electrical therapy, hydropathy,
phrenology.

What is that?

Hot pepper ointment. That I have not
tried.

Well, we use it to warm and stimulate
the affected parts of the body.

Positive attitude is very important for
recovery.

You celebrate life with such eloquence
in your work.

I sing the body electric.

You know my work.

Oh, yes.

And now as a married woman, I can
appreciate it more fully.

Never married myself.

I've known love, though.

Yes, indeed, I've known love.

Well, your heart's strong, and you
appear to be very much alive.

Apply this twice daily.

Come back tomorrow.

I'd like very much to help you. I can
think of no one I'd rather be cured by.

So long.

Dr. Mack.

Well, what's he like?

Mr. Whitman.

Oh, he's very charming.

There's a gentleness about him.

A sweet, sensitive nature.

What is it, Dr. Mack?

I don't know.

He seems sad.

Well, it must be discouraging.

A big, strong man like that suddenly
finding himself crippled.

I have a feeling there's more to it.

He seems resigned.

I don't believe he expects to be cured.

It's a shame that he doesn't have anyone
to support him in this difficult time.

Could be he's just playing lonesome.

A little companionship might help him.

Mom!

Are you ready?

You said we could go to the library.

Hi,

Mr. Bray.

Oh, hi, Lauren. You're reading Leaves of
Grass.

You call this poetry?

Isn't that by Mr. Whitman?

You're not going to let him read this,
are you?

Well, yes.

Not all Mr. Whitman's work is so... so
unfettered.

What's unfettered?

It means free, liberated.

It means disgusting, is what it means.

Mr. Whitman's poems ask us to look at
certain things in a new way.

What's wrong with that? Nothing.

Just that sometimes people are afraid of
new ideas.

I'm sure we'll find some poems that are
suitable.

I like this part.

A foot and lighthearted, I take to the
open road.

Healthy, free, the world before me. The
long brown path before me, leading

wherever I choose.

Now I see the secret of the making of
the best fruit.

It is to grow in the open air and to eat
and sleep with the earth.

Camarado, I give you my hand.

I give you myself more precious than
money.

I give you myself before preaching and
law.

Alone, the road is before us. These
poems say what I feel in my heart.

If only people could see.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

Will you give me yourself?

Will you come travel with me? Shall we
stick by each other as long as we live?

portrait will be the first.

One day, this entire wall will be a
gallery of our payment visitors.

Andrew, a word with you?

Excuse me, I have patients.

I'm not in business to provide patients
for Michaela Quinn.

Now, you owe me an explanation.

I should think again about placing
Whitman's photograph on your wall, or in

way associating the reputation of this
establishment with him.

Why?

What are you talking about?

I'd rather not gossip.

Uh, photographer is ready, sir.

Ready?

That was very nice. Thank you, sir. My
pleasure.

I was wondering if I could do an
interview.

An interview?

Yeah, I'm Brian Cooper.

I'm a reporter for the town paper, the
Gazette.

No perfume like printer's ink to the
nose of a young writer, eh, Mr. Cooper?

No, sir.

Unfortunately, I'm just on my way out.
I'm in need of some cool, clear air in

this magnificent wilderness of yours.

Sure.

Maybe some other time. Or maybe you'd
like to walk with me.

Just so I don't get lost.

I'd be glad to.

What's right my journal it goes with me
wherever I go Something comes into my

head. I write it down Is that how you
got to be a writer?

You ought to keep one?

Mr.. Whitman you can call me Walt Walt
how'd you learn to write poems?

Never wonder what it's like

To be that tall.

To have roots for toes digging deep down
into the soil. To bend in the wind. To

feel the sap coursing up and down
through your veins.

To have nests in... Your hair?

Exactly. It's the only way I know to be
a poet.

To smell and hear and feel and see as
the tree does until I lose track of

and become the tree.

And the tree becomes part of me.

It does?

There was a child went forth every day.

And the first object he looked upon and
received with wonder or pity or love or

dread.

That object he became.

What is this?

Opportunity. Something you need to learn
to seize. Preston, my roommate at

Harvard had a company who spent a good
deal of time in Whitman's company.

He told me Whitman is peculiar.

Peculiar.

A deviant.

A deviant?

He prefers the company of men, if you
understand my meaning.

Well, I only told you this.

Yes, of course.

A word of this to no one.

I am for those who believe in loose
delight.

I share the midnight orgies of young
men.

I dance with the dancers and drink with
the drinkers.

Preston, should have booked his act
here.

Customers would appreciate this stuff.

I can't wait to see Dr. Mike's face when
he reads that poem.

Ah, Mr. Whitman.

I've been looking for you. Your kind
attention flatters me.

No, quite the opposite.

I'm afraid I've been terribly remiss.

I had no idea the extent of your
infirmity, and I see now that a public

would be all too taxing for you. No
trouble, no trouble at all.

No, no, no, no. I cannot allow you to
run the risk of another stroke.

It seems to me it's up to Mr. Webman to
decide if he feels well enough.

Perhaps there's another reason, Mr.
Lodge.

Of course not.

I'll arrange a private car for you on
tomorrow's train to take you to Dr.

Tuckman's Institute in Omaha.

Oh, but I find your resort quite
adequate.

You were gracious enough to offer me a
four weeks board and lodging.

I think I'll stick to the bargain.

If you insist.

But the poetry reading will be
cancelled.

I understand you perfectly.

Good day, Preston Pay Lodge.

The third.

What happened?

You've given in to pressure, haven't
you? I do not give in to pressure.

I had my reason with him.

What's the matter, Preston?

Lose your taste for poetry?

I should have known better than to think
you'd ultimately take a stand.

Considering you're such a Whitman fan,
I'll leave that to you.

Perhaps one day you'll come to see the
wisdom of my decision.

Well, Dr. Mike, what are you going to do
now?

I don't know, Jake.

But there will be a poetry reading, I
can promise you that.

Yes? It's Michaela, my friend.

What can I do for you?

I've come to ask you a favor.

I know we've both had reservations about
Mr. Whitman in the past.

And I know that this is asking a lot of
you.

But I hope that you'll consider this
with an open mind.

Consider what?

I've come to ask you if we could have
the poetry reading here.

This is the house of the Lord.

But it's also a public gathering place.

It would be a shame if the people didn't
get a chance to hear a great writer

read his own words Mr.

Whitman is a lonely man going through a
difficult time. He needs our help

reverend When do you need to know

I'm afraid we only have a few days

I will probably regret this.

What's that doing there?

I put it where you instructed. Take it
down.

Sir? Get rid of it now.

Have you seen Mr. Whitman?

He's in the springs.

Night nature?

The reverend's agreed to let us have the
poetry reading of the church. The

church? Oh, we aren't all like Mr.
Lodge.

The reverend's fairly broad -minded.

You've been very kind.

Bad news?

A proposal of marriage from a lady I've
never met.

It's my own fault. All those poems of
yearning for a soulmate get me into

trouble.

Perhaps you should reply.

Truth is, I already have a soulmate.

Well, you didn't mention it.

Where is she?

I left my beloved in Washington.

When Sally's away, I feel very lonely.

Why don't you send for her?

It just ain't natural, Grace. It's evil.

Well, all I know is when...

I was a girl growing up in New Orleans.
There was all kinds of folks.

I just learned to mind our own business.
Oh, folks like him?

Your family's had their bachelor uncles
or aunties.

You're the one that's always quoting the
Bible. Now you're going to tell me that

the Bible said that this is right.

The Bible says, judge not that ye be not
judged.

Reverend. Robert E. Good morning, Sally.
I'd like to have a word with Michaela,

please.

Reverend.

Michaela.

I'm sorry. I've come to say that I've
changed my mind.

The poetry reading cannot be at the
church after all.

But you agreed.

I've already told Mr. Whitman.

What made you change your mind?

There's really no point to further
discussion.

Robert E.? The sooner Whitman leaves our
town, the better.

Good day, Sully, Michaela.

Why wouldn't they give him a chance?

If they only opened their minds, they'd
see that his poetry's all about love.

Maybe that's what's bothering him.

We have to find another place for the
reading.

We'll find a place that's large enough
to get everyone inside.

Why inside?

How about the meadow?

You know, Mr. Whitman enjoys the
outdoors.

That's a wonderful idea.

That's perfect.

No, closer, dear lady. I wasn't
expecting company.

Are you sure you're all right?

I'm not half cracked, if that's what you
mean.

You stumbled by chance upon my daily
rejuvenation routine.

Well, I, uh, I don't want to disturb
you, so... No, no, no, wait, please.

Sweet, sane, still nakedness in nature.

Ah, that poor sick humanity in cities
might come to know it once more.

There come moods when these clothes of
ours are too irksome to wear.

Your mood seems rather improved. I
thought over what you said about being

lonely. I've sent for my soulmate.

Well, that's wonderful.

I think I should... No wonder your
spirit's a lifted soul.

I am pleased.

I've heard about the Whitman fellow over
at the livery.

Seems he ain't interested in ladies like
a regular man.

Not kidding.

You sure about that?

I heard it with my own ears.

That's right. I heard it from Miss
Bailey, whose brother was by the station

picking up feed, and his friend told him
all about that, Mr. Whitman.

Grace, I brought you a new notice to
post.

Good for you, Dr. Mac, for sticking by
him.

Never mind the whole town talking
gossip.

What gossip?

Oh, about Mr.

Whitman. Well, what about him?

Everyone in town is talking about this
toilet.

So I heard.

Well, what do you think?

Doesn't matter what I think. Let's just
talk.

How do we know it isn't true?

I thought you were the one saying that
folks ought to keep an open mind.

But this is different.

We don't know anything about him as a
person.

Ma, Sully.

Something the matter?

Anthony called Mr. Whitman a sinner.

It's not true, though. He's real nice.

The way he explains things that you
never even thought about before.

You spoke with Mr. Whitman? You never
mentioned that.

Yeah.

I talked to him for an article. I'm
writing for the Gazette.

Oh, so you were interviewing him.

Yeah. We took a walk in the woods.

Walt called it a ramble.

Walt? That's what he said to call him.

It's just the two of you.

Yeah. Alone?

Uh -huh.

He's helping me to see things the way a
poet does.

I've got some reading to do. Oh,
sweetheart.

I know Mr. Whitman's a very interesting
man, but if you plan to do another

interview, perhaps it would be more
professional to do it in town.

Sure.

But Cheyenne believes that some folks
are like that naturally.

Hey, Emma.

Man -woman's what they call them.

They're respected just like every other
member of the tribe.

You're worried about Brian.

Well, I just don't know what to think.

Mr. Whitman was right there in my
clinic.

Right in front of me, and I didn't see
it.

There's nothing to see.

Tell me if it's true, and I didn't see
it.

What else did I miss?

Mr. Webb.

I'm here for my appointment.

Yes, of course.

How are you?

Fame is always more to the point. How
are you?

Oh, I'm well, thank you.

Let us begin by testing the reflexes on
your leg.

Have you been using the ointment?

Mm -hmm.

But some things cannot be altered, dear
doctor.

We must learn to accept them as they
are.

Ryan told me about your ramble.

He's a dear boy.

He said you discussed poetry.

Are you taking him the soul of a poet?

Let me take a look at your arm.

Kayla? Listen, Camerado, I give you my
hand.

I give you my love more precious than
money. I give you myself before

and law.

It's beautiful.

Do you see what it means?

Will you give me yourself? Will you come
travel with me? Shall we stick by each

other as long as we live?

Billy, he's talking about his Camerado,
his comrade.

A man.

The same words as before.

Sully, are you saying that even if it is
true about him, that it's all right?

What I'm saying is, even if it's true,
he's the same man he always was.

What's changed is how folks look at him.

I never thought I'd get here.

Dr.

Quinn, I want you to meet my friend,
Peter Doyle.

Peter, this is the angel who persuaded
me to send for you.

Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doyle.

Ma 'am.

See, Walt, I never dreamed I'd get to
come all the way out here.

Welcome to the West, dear boy.

I sure was glad to hear your telegram.

I was getting real lonesome without you.

Oh, man, gosh, you're male, piling up
more every day. I brought it along

you wouldn't have something right to do
when you get home.

Look at them, will you?

Couple of Nancy boys.

I'm Mr. Large.

Perhaps you'd be so good as to provide
us with transportation to the hotel.

I'm sorry, there aren't any more
vacancies.

Perhaps the gold nugget can accommodate
your friend.

We're all booked up.

Ain't I staying with you, Walt?

My friend is tired after his long trip.

You insisted on sticking to our
agreement, remember?

That doesn't include...

I have a room at my clinic.

Well, you're both welcome to stay there
if you want.

It will only be for one night.

We'll be on our way tomorrow.

Man.

You knew all along, didn't you?

I came to apologize, Michaela.

I'm not proud of the way I dropped
Whitman in your lap. I didn't know what

to do.

He's not an evil man. You're absolutely
right.

In fact, this paper, published last year
in Berlin by Dr. Westphal, suggests

that sexual deviancy may be a genetic
defect.

According to Westfall, these people
can't help themselves nor control

themselves.

It's not their fault.

Fault? That's an odd idea.

What does he suggest for treatment?

A normal procedure is placement in an
asylum.

How horrible.

It's unnecessarily cruel.

Well, I need hardly tell you, as
physicians, our choices are not always

pleasant. Well, suppose Dr.

Westfall is wrong. Suppose it isn't a
genetic defect.

Well, then it's a matter of will.

that these people can't control their
impulses.

Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting.

I thought your guests might be hungry.

I was just leaving.

It's very kind of you, Grace. Thank you.

Anytime, Dr. Mike.

Good one. Does it really say that?

I hope I'm not interrupting.

Oh, no. Come on in. Pete's just reading
me my mail.

You found in high school today.

I feel like a newborn babe.

I'm certainly happy to hear that.

After what happened yesterday.

Oh, I don't let that bother me.

These poor human specimens strapped into
their tight boots, buttons, and the

whole cast iron civilized life.

No time for that when one is in love.

Oh, yes.

I am in love with being out of the city.

I'm in love with the honest, gurgling
stream and the rough gray oak and the

emerald's feeder.

I am in love with this rampant, wild
territory of yours, this Colorado.

I almost forgot.

Grace sent over some lunch.

Pitbulls! Sustenance!

Marvelous. I'm starved. Probably from
all that talking.

I wish you could have seen it.

He was so obviously happy, so full of
life.

And yet I can't help feeling that it's
just not natural.

I wish I could understand him.

Remember why you told him to send for
his friend?

I was worried about him. He appeared to
be so scarred and sad and lonely.

That ain't natural either, right?

You're a doctor.

You want to make him feel better.

Of course.

I didn't know his soulmate was a man.

Now he's better?

Yes.

Why can't you just accept that?

Good afternoon, Mr. Doyle. Come in.

I just want to say thank you for looking
after Walt.

He was so poorly, and whatever you've
done, he's much better.

It was your arrival that cheered him up.

Walt says your boy is a real fine rider.

Well, it's kind of him to take an
interest.

Well, I guess they'll be back any time
now so we can catch our train.

Back? They're from fishing.

They're out together?

Fishing?

Walt says that's how he gets his
inspiration.

Well, goodbye, Mr. Doyle.

Sully, Brian's gone fishing with Mr.
Whitman.

He didn't say he couldn't go fishing. I
told him to stay in town.

An interview.

Sully, do you ever stop to think?

Well, what if you're wrong about him?

My Brian. Just take it.

Mr. Whitman. I wish you'd call me Walt.

Walt, are you a sinner?

Last time I looked, the good book said
we're all sinners.

In town, they're saying you're a Nancy
boy.

What's that mean?

It's a word, son. A word used as a
weapon.

A weapon?

Oh, words can wound as deeply as a
bayonet.

But words also have the power to heal.

I'm a singer of words, and so are you.
It's up to us, you and me, to use words

for building up, not for tearing down.

To babble love across this wondrous
young land.

To celebrate what's good and true and
free.

Unfettered?

That's a good word.

Unfettered.

Remember what you told me?

That this poetry's about what's already
deep in our hearts.

And you said it's nothing to be scared
of.

Well, Pete, shall we journey forth, my
boy?

Yes, dear doctor, we must say goodbye.

I was hoping I could be free this day.

Until the poetry reading.

It's up to you, Walt.

We all need to hear your eloquent words.

I sing the body electric.

The bodies of men and women engirth me,
and I engirth them.

I have perceived that to be with those I
like is enough.

To pass among them, to touch anyone, to
rest my arm ever so lightly around his

or her neck for a moment.

I do not ask any more delight.

I hear America singing.

Varied carols I hear.

The carpenter singing as he measures his
plank.

The mason singing his as he makes ready
for work.

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his
bench.

Each singing what belongs to him or her
and to none else.

There was a child who went forth every
day.

And the first object he looked upon and
received with wonder.

Or pity. Or love.

Or dread.

That object he became.

And that object became part of him for
the day.

Or for a certain part of the day.

Or for many years.

Or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this
child.

And grass.

And red and white morning glories.

And red and white clover. And the song
of the phoebe bird.

And the schoolmistress that passed on
the way to the school.

And the friendly boys that passed.

And the quarrelsome boys.

and the tidy and fresh -cheeked girls,
and the barefoot Negro boy and girl, and

all the changes of city and country
wherever he went, these became part of

child who went for every day, and who
now goes, and will always

go for every day.